


More Than Enough

by OhNoMyBreadsticks



Series: Getting By Together [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Image, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecurity, M/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Supportive Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22687699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoMyBreadsticks/pseuds/OhNoMyBreadsticks
Summary: Jaskier loves his boyfriend, knows he's more than lucky to have such a wonderful guy like Geralt. But sometimes, the insecurities get loud and Jaskier has to wonder if he's enough for Geralt.Those are the times when Geralt has to take control and make sure his boyfriend knows just how special he is.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Getting By Together [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653100
Comments: 60
Kudos: 1037





	More Than Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again with Witcher AUs!! I am on a mission to write more bottom Geralt content because honestly it's what he deserves! So please enjoy this soft insecure Jaskier fic C:
> 
> As always, my wonderful friend and beta [thislittlekumquat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thislittlekumquat/pseuds/thislittlekumquat) <3 <3

The greatest benefit to having a boyfriend, Jaskier is sure, is that he no longer needs to scrape ice and snow off his own car. It’s winter, and he’s always hated being cold, but now he doesn’t have to be. He can sit inside the car all bundled up in his fuzzy scarf and mittens and watch Geralt do all the heavy lifting for him. The car is humming, purring almost, as the engine tries to blow hot air out of the vents to warm the windshield, and Jaskier feels it in his bones. Or maybe that’s just the feeling he always gets when he watches his boyfriend doing hard work. 

Geralt is terribly well muscled, and it’s apparent even through the thick cloth of his coat. He works at the ice clinging to the windows efficiently, much better than Jaskier ever could. His light blond hair is hidden away under his hat but it’s starting to escape from the force of the exertion, and Jaskier wants nothing more than to get out and tuck those strands back away from his face. His gorgeous Geralt, so strong and so gentlemanly. Always helping out his poor, lazy boyfriend.

Partially to pass the time and partially because he wants to see if he can get Geralt to smile, Jaskier starts to sing. It’s what his mind usually defaults to, some nonsense tune or other from the radio station he jockeys at. He does, despite appearances, actually do work sometimes. Just not the kind that involves bulging biceps and frostbitten noses. It takes a few minutes, but when there’s a sizable enough hole in the windshield ice that Geralt can see Jaskier through it, he pauses. Must hear the sound of his boyfriend’s voice floating through the air, muffled as it reaches his ear because he cocks his head. God, he really is like a big old puppy sometimes, and Jaskier loves it.

Geralt smiles, just a tiny curl of his lips upwards, and then he redoubles his efforts at scraping the car clean. By the time he’s finished, Jaskier has worked his way through several songs, and the car is decently warm inside. Geralt slides into the driver’s seat, shedding snow and barely breathing hard. His poor cheeks though, Jaskier can see how they’re pink from the cold, despite his boyfriend’s stupid insistence that he barely feels the temperature drop. Now this is something he  _ can _ do, so Jaskier pulls off his mittens and grabs Geralt’s face, cupping the cold skin in his warm hands.

“You don’t have to thank me, I like being your personal heater,” Jaskier quips, and Geralt just lets out one of his signature  _ hm _ s. They stay like that for several minutes, until Geralt turns his head away and starts the car. 

“You’ll be late,” he says, by way of explanation, and he’s right of course. If Jaskier doesn’t get a move on - well, if his personal chauffeur doesn’t get a move on - he’s going to be late for work at the radio station. Shame, really, because he was just about to press a kiss to Geralt’s pink nose.

Jaskier can’t quite put a finger on the feeling gathering in his gut as he watches the last of the snow on Geralt’s collar melt away in the heat of the car, but it’s odd and it’s not settling as he gets out of the car and watches his boyfriend drive away, knowing that since he’s already late to  _ his _ job, Geralt is definitely also late to his. Waving as the car disappears down the street, Jaskier resolves not to think about it and hope it goes away.

* * *

“Come to bed, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbles, and Jaskier knows without having to turn around that he’s being watched from the pile of blankets on their bed. He really wants to just spin around and fling himself into those waiting arms (those big strong muscular arms), but he can’t just stop now. He’s right in the middle of his skincare routine, one of those new Korean ones, and he can’t just quit halfway through. He has several more moisturizers and eye creams to get through.

“In a moment, darling,” Jaskier says sweetly, trying to reassure Geralt so that he doesn’t just get up and drag him to bed by force. Not that that isn’t hot, of course, because it is. But he has a feeling Geralt won’t be so happy if he smears this whole pot of eye cream onto the sheets in his haste. There’s a huffed sigh and a rustle of blankets behind him, as Geralt flops back down, apparently content to wait. Jaskier continues to work away, fingers brisk and precise as he watches his own reflection in the mirror. Blue eyes, bare shaven jaw, clean complexion… Crows’ feet. Shit. He really is getting old, isn’t he?

Forcing himself to hum a happy tune, Jaskier finishes moisturizing and turns to the bed, where Geralt is still watching him out of the corner of his eye. Always watching. A thrill goes up Jaskier’s spine at the thought, but something makes him turn back to the mirror one last time to make sure his face looks alright under all that product. Even though the lights will be out soon and he won’t be seen, he still takes one last minute to make sure. He just wants to make sure he hasn’t missed any spots with the moisturizer, Jaskier reassures himself. 

He barely has time to sit down on the mattress before warm arms are encircling him and pulling him close, Geralt squeezing his boyfriend against his chest. Jaskier sighs happily, some of the mystery tension dissipating from his frame as he feels the comforting press of a larger body against his spine. His boyfriend has the most marvelous arms. The most marvelous chest, really, and the most marvelous  _ everything _ . Jaskier runs an appreciative hand across one of those arms where it curls over his stomach, feeling the tendons and scars and fine hair. He knows Geralt used to do some shady business, working as a bouncer and a fighter in some dive bar or other. That’s all past now.

Now Geralt is here, with him, but he’s still all muscle and grim charm and raw masculinity. Jaskier knows his boyfriend could have anyone, with a body like this, and yet… He’s jolted from his thoughts by Geralt’s lips pressing against his cheek, followed by a soft curse. 

“Fuck, Jaskier, what is that?” Geralt grumbles, loosening one hand to scrub across his mouth. “Tastes vile. Smells too.” 

Jaskier lets out an indignant squeak at the sudden jostling, as well as the loss of those lovely lips on his skin. “It’s moisturizer, Geralt!” he retorts, and he would stick his nose in the air if he didn’t know that would make him headbutt back against his boyfriend, “And I think it smells nice.”

Geralt clearly disagrees, given the way he’s grumbling and rearranging his posture so his nose isn’t pressed quite so closely against his boyfriend’s neck like usual. “Look, some of us aren’t naturally handsome with perfect skin,” Jaskier pouts, and he knows he’s whining but he can’t seem to stop the soft little huff that escapes. “Some of us have to moisturize. That’s how it is.” 

Geralt is silent for a long time, but he’s always been the silent strong type, Jaskier tries to rationalize, because his heart is suddenly trying to beat out of his chest.

“I’ll get used to it,” Geralt finally says, and Jaskier goes limp against him, feeling gratitude and relief and something else he can’t name. Of course Geralt is going to be kind, because he’s always kind. He’s a good boyfriend, the best Jaskier’s ever had. Fuck. The feeling from last week is back, curling in his gut, and it’s stronger than ever. He squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the warm skin against him and the way Geralt’s breath tickles against the back of his neck, and eventually sleep welcomes him with open arms.

* * *

“I’ll get it!” Jaskier shouts as he hears the knock on the apartment door, scurrying past Geralt to arrive first and throw the door open. Yennefer is standing in the hall, giving him that signature bemused look of hers, but Jaskier doesn’t pay that any mind. He’s learned that if he wants any chance of getting a hug he has to do it early and with the element of surprise. She’s too late to step back and he has her in his arms with a laugh. Yennefer smells amazing as always, and is wearing some sort of dress that costs more than Jaskier wants to know, and she gives his back a few gentle pats before disentangling herself.

“Good to see you’re ready to go,” Yennefer chuckles, looking Jaskier up and down before sweeping into the apartment to greet Geralt. 

Now, if you had asked Jaskier when he first started dating his amazing boyfriend if he would like Geralt’s hot ex, the answer would have been a resounding  _ No _ . Exes were bad news, especially hot, capable ones. But somehow, Yennefer had managed to completely shatter that preconception. Sure, Jaskier had been nervous and jealous the first few times they met, but she seemed to be the only woman capable of breaking up with an amazing man like Geralt and not taking it personally. At least not now, or at least not visibly. She and Geralt had stayed friends through some miracle, and now Jaskier liked to count himself in the ‘friend’ category as well, no matter how much Yennefer might roll her eyes.

Jaskier likes interesting people, always has, and Yennefer is not only interesting but also incredibly kind to him despite it all. Like tonight - she’s gotten him an extra ticket to this publicity event he never would have been able to afford on his own. Oh, the glamor, the excitement, Jaskier’s been vibrating with it all day, to Geralt’s great annoyance. He hates events like this, but since Yennefer and Jaskier both love them he goes along. And Geralt looks absolutely scrumptious the whole time despite his annoyance, if anyone was asking Jaskier’s opinion on things. The whole brooding, ‘don’t talk to me’ vibe was quite sexy.

Jaskier is decked out in his finest colors, absolutely loving the latest trends of pattern matching that are sweeping social media. Let Yennefer and Geralt keep their boring black and silver sleekness, Jaskier will be more than happy to let them accentuate him. Geralt drives them, and almost huffs a laugh at Jaskier’s little joke about having to tip the chauffeur later, so he’s already counting this evening as a win. Even more so when Geralt wraps his arm around his waist, the warm pressure reassuring and comforting as they walk into the main event hall. Jaskier’s smiling bright enough to outshine all of the flashing lights in this place.

And yet, it seems fate has decided not to be kind to him tonight. The three of them are immediately approached by some bigwigs or other, men and women in more black and grey, who practically smell of money. Probably interested in Yennefer’s startup company, Jaskier thinks, and is about to try and tug Geralt away when he hears his least favorite phrase come out of one of these men’s mouths.

“Ah, Yennefer, so nice to see you again. And you’ve brought your date along again, it was a pleasure meeting Geralt at the last event.” 

Jaskier’s heart stops momentarily in his chest, only restarting as both Yennefer and Geralt answer in unison, “We’re not together anymore.” 

He can feel the way the eyes of every person in the little cluster turns to him, takes in his outfit, his hairstyle, his  _ everything _ , and clearly finds him wanting. Geralt’s arm tightens around his waist even as one of the women says politely, “Ah, I see. A shame, really, to see two successful people drift apart.” And now, well, his heart may still be beating, but it’s falling down to live somewhere near where his clearly distasteful shoes are ruining the carpet. They don’t have to say it for him to feel the implication - that Geralt has clearly downgraded in his new relationship.

Jaskier is staring blankly at a space on the wall so he misses the way Geralt’s jaw tightens angrily and Yennefer’s eyes flash in that particular way they always do before she goes in for the kill. She steps slightly forward, saying something that sounds pleasant but will no doubt lead to the loss of thousands of dollars for these idiots, but all Jaskier can hear is the pounding in his ears. An embarrassment, really, to show up in his silly little outfit with his silly little smile and expect these important people to respect him. Or at least not outright stare at him in disgust. He peels away from Geralt despite his protests and finds the most secluded corner he can to drown his sorrows in cocktail shrimp. At least those never disappoint, unlike himself apparently.

* * *

_ Ah fuck _ . Jaskier looks down at the scale and wonders for the first time if maybe drowning that nervous twisting in his gut with comfort food has been his best idea. Clearly not, if the new gathering softness around his middle is anything to go by. He’s never been one for exercising, and therefore never been blessed with the rock hard abs of Geralt, but he’s never been… Well, pudgy is a good word for it. Some rational part of his mind is trying to protest that weight gain is a totally normal human thing, but it’s hard to listen to that part of his mind when he lives with a man who could be on the cover of any male fitness magazine. Standing there, in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror, all the tension of the last few weeks comes crashing down on top of Jaskier. 

He’s not enough. He’s never been enough, not for Geralt, and he’s been fooling himself into thinking they ever had a chance. Not that Geralt would ever say anything, oh no, he’s  _ far _ too kind and perfect to do something like that. No, he just puts up with Jaskier and his bad fashion and his smelly moisturizer and his weak squishy self. Wasting his charm and good looks on someone like Jaskier instead of an amazing woman like Yennefer. Or rather, someone equally as hot and cool as her. Even in the depths of despair, which Jaskier most definitely is sinking into, he can’t quite imagine those two getting back together. It should make him feel better, but it really doesn’t.

Unable to even look at himself in the mirror any more, Jaskier grabs for his sweatpants and one of Geralt’s hoodies - he knows he doesn’t deserve the comfort but he’s so close to tears that he allows himself anyways. Snuggled up in the excess fabric, breathing in the smell of Geralt’s soap (the man doesn’t even wear cologne, something about being sensitive to smells but Jaskier knows it’s just because he naturally smells good), he sinks down to the ground and pulls his legs to his chest. Jaskier rests his head on his own knees and tries to stop thinking. He’s in his own head, all the little things that have gone wrong piling up and getting worse, and so nauseous it almost hurts. Fuck. 

Eventually, after who knows how long, there’s a knock on the door. When there’s no answer, there’s another, louder knock, and a rumble of, “Jaskier? You okay?” The sound of Geralt’s voice nips at Jaskier’s heart, and he curls in closer, making some sound that isn’t quite words. What’s he supposed to say,  _ No, I’m having an existential crisis over my lack of self worth and being a horrible boyfriend _ ? 

Apparently he takes too long, because Geralt says, “I’m coming in,” and does just that. Jaskier doesn’t look up to see the disappointment that’s no doubt written on his face, so he’s honest to god half scared out of his skin when suddenly Geralt is thudding to his knees in front of him. Warm hands are gripping his shoulders, and Jaskier finally lifts his face to see… Geralt is worried?

“Are you okay? Fuck, Jask, talk to me,” Geralt says, and his brows are knitted together in an expression Jaskier isn’t sure he’s seen before. “Are you hurt?” he asks again, one hand going to fumble for his phone, “Do I need to call someone?” 

That finally jolts Jaskier out of his little pity party - the thought of having an ambulance called just for a bout of well-deserved self loathing too much to handle. “I’m fine. I’m not hurt,” he squeaks out, voice wobbly but apparently steady enough for Geralt to believe, as his hand stalls in its search for his phone. Jaskier takes a few wobbly breaths to try and explain, when suddenly Geralt’s forehead is gently tipped against his.

“Oh thank god. You scared me,” Geralt murmurs, and that’s all it takes for the dam to break. Jaskier is tearing up, big fat ugly tears threatening to spill over. 

“I’m sorry,” he whines, wanting to throw himself into Geralt’s arms but hesitating instead. “I’m just, fuck, I’m so useless, and ugly to boot, and it just hit me you know, and like, I should have realized it sooner but I didn’t want to lose you, still don’t, but you deserve so much better--” He’s rambling, his sentences all flowing together like they do when he’s excited or really devastated, but he can’t stop. Hopefully Geralt can understand him and just put him out of his misery. He takes a deep breath in to keep speaking, to tell Geralt it’s okay to move on and find someone better, when suddenly his mouth is otherwise occupied. 

The kiss doesn’t last long, Geralt pulling away to stare at Jaskier instead. “Sorry, I couldn’t think of any other way to get you to shut up,” he mutters, always the wordsmith, and Jaskier can’t hold back the watery chuckle that escapes. Before he can say anything about needing to be shut up more often, Geralt’s hands are cupping his face, those big calloused palms comforting against his skin no matter what. 

“And I needed you to shut up because I won’t let you keep saying shit like that. That you’re useless, or ugly, or anything else,” Geralt says, and the flash of anger in his eyes is enough to silence any protests Jaskier might have on the tip of his tongue. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but that’s not the Jaskier I know. That’s not  _ my _ Jaskier,” he says, “Because he’s… He’s kind, and clever, and fucking hot.” Saying things out loud has never been something Geralt’s a fan of, Jaskier knows, and the fact that he’s trying so hard to say nice things like this just shoots another bolt through his heart. 

“But I don’t feel like any of those things right now. I feel like a gross blob,” Jaskier admits miserably, unable to explain any better than that, his eyes still full of unshed tears. Geralt  _ hm _ s deep in his throat, and seems to pause for a moment, at a loss for how to win a fight that’s going on in Jaskier’s own head. Things seem really hopeless for a moment, before Geralt swipes one of his thumbs gently across Jaskier’s cheek. 

“Will you let me show you?” Geralt asks, voice low and softer than Jaskier’s ever heard it before. And what can he do, in the face of such a request, but nod? So nod he does, and his reward is the tiniest of smiles from his boyfriend.

Geralt leans back in, but instead of kissing him again, he noses gently against Jaskier’s hair, breathing in the smell of him. Perfumes and shampoo and conditioner and all, just pressing little kisses along the crown of his head. He works his way down meticulously, kissing at the fine lines and crow’s feet that Jaskier so hates, then across to the tip of his nose. Those big hands don’t waver for a moment, and Jaskier feels himself relax, just a tiny bit. There’s no words, but he can almost hear Geralt’s voice in the soft brush of his lips and the sweep of his fingers. That Jaskier is fine. That he doesn’t mind the extra lotions and pampering, even when they make him sneeze.

Geralt does speak when he gets down Jaskier’s neck and mouths at the neckline of the hoodie, almost purring out the words, “You look so good in my clothes. I wish you’d wear them more often. Love seeing you all swamped in this.” Sure, Jaskier’s not much shorter than Geralt, but he’s not nearly as built, so the hoodie has swallowed him up, in a way. It’s hard to feel, well, fat when he’s so lost in the swell of fabric. Especially when Geralt’s hands are suddenly running up under the hem of it and stroking at his sides. He tenses nonetheless, not wanting those clever fingers to feel the extra weight at his hips, but Geralt hums softly and buries his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, and mmh, that’s quite the distraction. His tears have all but dried up, both from the surprise and the comforting touch, but he’s still not completely back on his feet.

Geralt’s clever mouth on his neck is helping though, licking and sucking just the way Jaskier likes it, because god, they know each other’s bodies don’t they? Geralt’s hands are massaging at his hips, rolling the skin between his fingers, and Jaskier finally lets himself breathe out a sound that’s halfway to pleasure. That only serves to spur Geralt on, and suddenly he’s added teeth to the equation, leaving what is no doubt a lovely bruise right at the base of Jaskier’s throat. They stay like this for what feels like hours, Jaskier slowly letting Geralt map out the planes of his body with eager tongue and fingertips, until something snaps. 

“Can you feel it? What you do to me?” Geralt growls in his ear, surging forward so his legs are straddled across Jaskier’s shin, and oh  _ god _ , Jaskier is turning the brightest shade of red known to man. Without thinking he presses his leg forward against Geralt’s half hard dick, and is rewarded with a low groan in answer. And yes, okay, it’s hard to stay self deprecating when your boyfriend is hard and wanting from just fooling around on the bathroom floor, so Jaskier finally wraps his arms around Geralt and pulls him close. It’s taken as a sign for them to get out of here, and he’s all but rocketed off the floor and into Geralt’s strong embrace, seemingly an easy task for the man.

As they stumble towards the bedroom they’re kissing again, and now Jaskier is invested - desperate even. He’s craving the reassurance of Geralt’s body, a language even his stupid brain can’t twist around into something terrible. There are strong hands on his ass, kneading at the flesh there, and yeah, Geralt has always loved his ass. Never any doubt about that. Jaskier rolls his hips, playing double duty by pressing back into those hands but also rutting up closer against Geralt’s abs. The answering curse reminds him of another piece of his body his boyfriend has always very much enjoyed - his cock. Which is suddenly interested in the proceedings now that he doesn’t feel like an unwantable piece of shit.

Geralt gets them both to the bed and suddenly Jaskier is on his back on the mattress with his boyfriend  _ looming _ over him, and isn’t that a pretty sight? He’s pushing up the hoodie and Jaskier does his best not to curl up on himself as soon as he’s exposed, but he can’t help hiding a little bit. Geralt just peels his arms away from where they’re crossed protectively, slowly and patiently, and sets to work mouthing across his chest and down to his stomach. His hair is coming out of its usual bun, light strands trailing across Jaskier’s skin and making him gasp softly as the tickling sensation mixes just right with the sharp nip of Geralt’s teeth to the spot right above his belly button.

Jaskier relaxes into the touches, focusing on the feelings of pleasure and the unspoken words that Geralt is laying down across his body. He’s not unwanted, he’s not disgusting, in fact, quite the opposite if Geralt’s huffy little groans are anything to go by, or the greedy splay of his hands on Jaskier’s bare thighs once his sweatpants have come off. He has to sit back to undress himself too, and Jaskier doesn’t often see him in such a rush. It would almost be amusing if it wasn’t the sexiest thing imaginable to see all that hardened muscle come into view. Well, it’s not just the muscle that’s sexy. If he’s being honest, it’s also the way Geralt’s eyes can’t stop raking down his body, or the way he swings himself into a straddle over Jaskier’s legs in one smooth motion.

“I want you inside of me,” Geralt announces, and Jaskier almost loses himself right then and there, cock twitching desperately. 

“Fuck,  _ Geralt _ ,” he whines, and Geralt runs a soothing hand across his stomach, seemingly obsessed with that spot that had Jaskier near tears just moments earlier in the bathroom. 

“You’re going to,” Geralt replies in that low rumble of his that means he’s quite pleased with himself, and this time Jaskier can’t help but laugh - high and light and goddamn joyful. He loves this man so much, who takes such pride in such dumb little word plays. 

Who takes such pride in him. 

Watching Geralt prep himself is a thing of beauty on its own, the muscles around his jaw clenching and then twitching and finally relaxing in what Jaskier knows is a mirror image of another group of muscles. He doesn’t waste any time, probably only gets two fingers inside to start scissoring, before he’s shuffling back into position above Jaskier. A waste, truly, Jaskier thinks to himself, and realizes with heart flipping clarity that he very much does not want to lose the opportunity of a next time, where he can take Geralt apart with just his mouth and his fingers. Show him a really good time.

But then Geralt is sliding down onto his cock and Jaskier loses the ability to have any sort of thought for the future. All he can think about is his boyfriend, and how goddamn tight and hot and amazing he feels clenching around him. Geralt slides down until they’re skin to skin again, his hands coming to rest on Jaskier’s chest, his own chest heaving with the effort of not immediately moving and hurting himself. They’ve done that before, and Jaskier hated it, so he reaches his hands out and sets them on Geralt’s hips, gently holding him in place. They stay there for what could be minutes, could be hours. Jaskier can’t tear his eyes away from his boyfriend’s face, his eyes closed in concentration and his mouth a pleased soft ‘o’.

Geralt’s eyes snap open and he smiles at Jaskier, smiles at him properly like he’s the fucking sun, but before his heart can beat out of his chest Geralt is moving on his cock and the distraction is back. With those fucking tree trunk thighs, it’s easy work for him to lift up almost all the way off Jaskier’s dick and slam down again, and he’s soon got a fairly brutal pace set for the both of them. It’s all Jaskier can do to hang on as he watches Geralt fuck himself, one set of their hands meeting and twining on top of Jaskier’s chest. It’s a tender gesture, and somehow the furious rhythm Geralt’s set seems all the more tender because of it.

There’s a shift in position - Jaskier moves his hips and Geralt arches his back a little - and suddenly they’re both moaning as Jaskier’s cock hits just right and his boyfriend clenches around him in response. 

“Jask, fuck, you see this?” Geralt pants out, teeth gritted as he lifts himself up yet again, “You see what you do to me? Got me like thi-- _ sssss _ ” The end of the sentence devolves into a hiss as Geralt shudders again on the downstroke, and Jaskier can tell he’s close. He can’t say he’s not as well - between the perfect stimulation on his dick and the praise from his boyfriend, he’s about ready to let go himself.

So Jaskier takes control, reaching his unoccuppied hand (because like fuck he’s letting go of Geralt’s) and takes his cock, stroking in time as best he can with the way Geralt is bouncing on top of him. It’s not very coordinated or elegant, but when he looks up with wide eyes and sees all the devotion painted across his boyfriend in sweat and flush and panting breaths, Jaskier whispers out a “Thank you” and that’s enough. 

Geralt comes with a strangled groan, clenching and grinding down on Jaskier even as he makes a mess all across his chest. What does it for Jaskier though is the way Geralt squeezes his hand as he comes, like he wants to make sure he’s still here. Like they’re in this together. Jaskier’s head tips back against the pillows and he’s sure he wails through his orgasm in a very embarrassing manner. But none of that matters, because as soon as he comes back to himself from the waves of fuzzy pleasure he’s treated to the feeling of Geralt sprawled across him, face buried in his very favorite place - the crook of his boyfriend’s neck.

They lie there together, catching their breath, fingers still twined together, for a long time. Jaskier eventually brings his free arm up to wrap around Geralt and make sure he doesn’t go anywhere, even though that’s a silly fear too. His big lovely lump of a boyfriend isn’t moving any time soon, if his pleased snuffling and slow breathing are anything to go by. This time, Jaskier’s mind doesn’t let the silence be an open door for negative thoughts, because how could he treat the worship he’s just been given like a lie? The way Geralt feels about him is painted on his skin in so many soft touches and rapidly purpling bruises. 

“I love you too,” Jaskier says, voice quiet but firm. Because that’s what this had all been about, hadn’t it? Geralt loves him, even when he doesn’t feel like he’s enough. Maybe especially then. Geralt lets out one of his trademark hums and smiles against Jaskier’s neck, and life is good again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you liked it! <3 I am running at full speed into the Witcher fandom, so I can and will produce more bottom Geralt content lmao
> 
> As always, I cherish any and all kudos and comments <3 I’m available on [tumblr](https://ohnomybreadsticks.tumblr.com/) if you ever feel like chatting or reading some of my lil drabbles, I’d love to see you there!


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